


My Beautiful Lady Herald

by A_G_Sawyer



Series: Secrets Won't Always Stay Secret [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Battle, Blushing, F/M, First Kiss, Romance, Sexual Tension, They Finally Get To Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 01:15:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3432665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_G_Sawyer/pseuds/A_G_Sawyer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haven gets destroyed. Cullen freaks out, but is steady under pressure. Mirriam covers Haven in snow. Cullen saves her from the storm. They finally get to kiss. Finally!</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Beautiful Lady Herald

It was nothing short of pure chaos. Fires blazing, buildings crumbling, people screaming and running in every direction. Cullen allowed his commanding, dominant side to take control of the situation in the only way he knew how.

“Get to the Chantry! Everyone inside, it’s the only place we’ll have even a flicker of a chance!” He yelled through the pandemonium. Mirriam had been running through the town with her companions trying to rescue as many as she could. She was standing just outside the building trying to climb up to the roof. She’d made it most of the way, but Cullen’s heart stopped when he saw the building collapse.

Mirriam screamed and jumped back, scrambling off the crates and rocks and landing in an acrobatic roll, jumping back up to her feet. All eyes turned to the building as the screams coming from within echoed through the night. Cullen thought he might be sick, the sound so feral and pained. But there was nothing they could do, it had already been too late.

“You’ve saved who you could, Herald. We all have. There’s no escape now. At this point, we just have to make them work for it, and take as many as we can down with us,” Cullen said, his hand on Mirriam’s shoulder. Mirriam turned to face him, her eyes damp with tears and fury, and nodded.

“We will go down fighting, Commander. This isn’t over yet,” she said. Cullen spared a small smile and a nod. He hadn’t really thought much of the Herald when she’d first arrived. She’d been so small and… almost dainty. It would have been amusing under better circumstances, but instead it was just underwhelming.

At least she wasn’t another mage, he’d thought at the time. But the rascallion she’d turned out to be wasn’t much easier to deal with. He had to admit, however, that her innocent charm was extremely appealing. She may have been a mischievous little beast, but she had very little knowledge of the ways of the world and he found a tantalizing desire to show her.

He’d only get the chance if they survived, which he doubted they would. But if anyone could grant their little town, their ruined haven, extended life, it was her. She’d proven herself time and time again. On every expedition, he’d half expected her to come back broken and finished, but each time she returned victorious with a weary grin and a gleam of hope, even through all her wounds and bandages.

Cullen was so proud of who she’d turned out to be. He couldn’t imagine a better person to fill the role as the Herald of Andraste than her, despite the fact that she barely believed in the ancient bride or the Maker.

Cullen patted Mirriam’s shoulder and hustled the remaining inhabitants into the confined space that was the Chantry. There wasn’t much room here and scarcely enough supplies for one night. Although, if that pair of monstrosities made it that far, they were already dead anyway.  

The doors were shut and sealed and Cullen ran from group to group within the small church providing words of comfort and offering what little help he could. When Chancelor Roderick and Cole made their way to Mirriam, Cullen followed. They’d started talking about something that sounded like a miracle, but Cullen was sure they were fresh out of miracles by now.

“I don’t… know, Herald. Th-the Maker must have… shown me… for a reason,” the Chancelor grunted between wounded breaths. “There’s… a pathway. It-it will lead us… out of danger. But… we cannot wait. If… if you really are… the Herald of A-Andraste, then… wh-who am I… to stand… in your way,” he said, his breaths coming out more and more strained with each word. Mirriam nodded and thanked him for the help.

“Commander, can you lead them out? We’ll need a mighty distraction. We’ll have to bury Haven. Corypheus wants me, so I’ll go, but you need to take them out. You need to get our people to safety!” Mirriam asked. Cullen had already laid it out in his mind, and regardless of the plan, the Herald always died. He barely heard that she was speaking to him, and shook his head, pushing the terrifying truth away.

“Yes, yes I can lead them out. But you’ll have no means of escape, Herald, once the snow hits. You’ll be lost to us.” _To me._

Mirriam smiled at Cullen and held his shoulders. How could anyone not love this woman, this selfless, brave and willing woman? He wanted to show her everything, to show her love and life and everything beautiful, but no he’d have no chance.

“Would you give us a moment, Chancelor? Cole?” Mirriam asked, and the two left Cullen and Mirriam alone at the door. Mirriam led Cullen to a mostly secluded part of the Chantry.

“Commander…” she started, but shook her head. “Cullen, these people need you now. They need you and Josephine, Leliana, Cassandra and they need each other. You need to trust me, this is the only way any of us live,” she said, her emerald eyes burning with regret. Cullen stared at her, feeling the pain in his chest acutely, and reached for her hands. He held them together in his own and kissed her fingers. Closing his eyes, he sighed in resignation.

“Cullen…” Mirriam said, her hand on his cheek. Cullen felt his heart break as she smiled at him. _She hides her pain so well._ Mirriam stepped closer, closing the already small gap between them, and lifted up to her toes. Cullen wanted nothing more than to seal the distance with his lips, longed to finish what they’d started so many weeks ago on the fields outside of Haven proper. But instead he placed two fingers on her lips.

“Save it for when you come back to me. I’ll see you on the other side, Herald,” Cullen said, his voice hitching. But he refused to believe she couldn’t find a way out of this nightmare. Mirriam stared into his eyes, a new resolve burning there and she set her jaw, and nodded.

She turned to leave as Cullen gathered the people together to lead them through the passage Chancelor Roderick spoke of. Before she left the Chantry, Cullen turned and yelled out.

“Herald! Please… if we are to have a chance… if _you_ are to have a chance…” he paused and stared into her eyes, an unspoken moment hanging between them, “Let that thing hear you.”

Mirriam stared at him and nodded once before taking off into the snowy night, a few of her companions in tow. Cullen watched her leave, resisting the urge to chase after her and join her in death. If she was to go down, surely he would go with her, but he pushed the thoughts from his mind. She was the Herald of Andraste. The fact that she was alive now was a repetition of miracles upon miracles. One more wasn’t too much to ask, he tried to convince himself.

“Alright, everyone, with me! We have one chance, let us not squander it! Allow our Herald’s sacrifice to mean something more than a few minutes of comfort!” Cullen yelled to the people as he entered the pathway. He turned once more to see that she’d disappeared beyond his view and he uttered a silent prayer to the Maker as he led what remained of his people away from impossible danger.

 

* * *

 

 

Mirriam raced to the trebuchet, followed closely by Iron Bull, Dorian, and Varric. Most of the danger still lay ahead, but between the four of them, the remaining Red Templars that stood between them and the massive catapult were easily neutralized. When they reached the trebuchet, Mirriam took no time getting started.

“Good luck, Boss. Looks like you’re gonna need it. This might take a while,” Bull said, grinning as he slashed down a twisted figure.

“Just keep them off me, Bull. You work on keeping them away from the trebuchet. Dorian, keep your distance, but lash out with everything you have. Varric, let Bianca loose like you’ve never done before. We need to make this count!” A rally of affirmatives and shouts echoed around her as she pulled the cog, turning the trebuchet.

It was mind-numblingly slow, Mirriam’s muscles strained and screamed in protest as she forced herself to continue. She was interrupted several times, which did nothing to aid her mood, but she flew through the air like a wasp as she slashed and hacked until she was able to return to her mission.

Finally, the trebuchet in place, Mirriam yelled out to her companions.

“Go, now! You won’t have a chance if you don’t leave now!”

“Boss, you can’t expect us to just leave you here!” Bull roared in disapproval.

“Corypheus is as much my problem as he is yours, Herald. I should, at least, be with you for this,” Varric said. Bull grunted at Varric and muttered something about missing the glory.

“Personally, I’d love to sit around and discuss our options for glory and honor all day, but we really don’t have time, what with an archdemon and an angry Magister Darkspawn pawing at our heels. A decision must be made!” Dorian said, his cheeky grin ever in place.

“I’ve already made it!” Mirriam yelled. “Go now, or I’ll kill you all myself!” She threatened. Bull glared, but nodded. Varric paused, shook his head and threw his hands up and Dorian simply turned on his heel, leading the small group back. Soon the three men were no longer visible and Mirriam’s heart raced as the weight of the world settled on her shoulders.

Fires and explosions built up around her as the dragon heaved its scorching gust through the air. Out of the blazes, a ghost in the sweltering heat, strode a figure taller than any giant she’d ever seen. His body was little more than a skeleton and the skin on his face stretched thin against his bones. Red crystals jutted out from various parts of his body. All in all, the sight of him made Mirriam heave, her stomach revolting at the gruesome details.

“Enough! Pretender… you toy with forces beyond your ken. No more,” the sickening creature said. His voice was deep and loud, resonating through the wind.

“What are you? Why are you here?” Mirriam asked, yelling up at him.

“Mortals beg for the truth they cannot have. It is beyond what you are, what I was.”

“Whatever you are, I am not afraid of you!” Mirriam yelled in defiance, standing her ground and setting her jaw.

“Words mortals often hurl into darkness. Once they were mine. They are always… lies.” He drew closer, his footsteps shaking the earth. Mirriam clenched her hands around her daggers. “Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt… the Elder One. The will that is Corypheus.” He raised his skeletal fingers toward Mirriam. “You. Will. Kneel.” Mirriam squared her shoulders and looked up at Corypheus, her eyes a combination of fear and spite.

“You’ll get nothing out of me! Why are you here?” She asked, a demanding tone taking over as her voice shook. Mirriam felt her legs shaking under her as he towered over her. She whipped her eyes around, searching for the dragon that never fully left their presence.

“I am here for the anchor. The process of removing it begins now,” Corypheus said, holding a slate colored orb in one hand. A red glow surrounded it, a crimson fire swirling through its cracks and crevices. Mirriam felt her palm tingle in its presence, the power between them evident.

“It is your fault, ‘Herald’. You interrupted a ritual years in the planning. And instead of dying, you stole its power. I do not know how you survived. But what marks you as touched, what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens.” He thrust the orb out toward her, the red flames leaping to meet with the green glow of her palm. As they connected, Mirriam felt a jolt of pain shoot through her limbs, knocking her to her knees. “And you used the anchor to undo my work. The gall!”

Mirriam breathed heavily under the weight of the pain. Electricity sped through her fingers, racing up her arm.

“What is this… thing… meant to do?” She managed to ask through the pain.

“It is meant to bring certainty where there is none. For you, the certainty that I would always come for it.” Corypheus took one large step toward her and hoisted her up by her wrist, leaving her to dangle helplessly in the air. Mirriam flailed and yelped, recoiling from the ache. Her grip on her daggers failed and they fell to the ground, useless to her now.

“But why all this chaos?” She asked.

“The chaos will empower me and ensure we no longer beg at the feet of the invisible. I once breached the fade in the name of another, to serve the old gods of the empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption, dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more.

“I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty,” he said as he pulled Mirriam close to his face. She could smell his foul breath and the scent that oozed from his decrepit remains.

Corypheus glared at her in disgust and fury before sweeping his massive arm out and releasing her, sending her flying into the trebuchet with a crack. Mirriam groaned in pain as her head banged against the wood, and she blinked stars away from the edges of her vision. Her muscles ached and now she had a nearly unbearable headache. Discomfort abounding, Mirriam rose.

“The anchor is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling, false ‘Herald’,” he said. Mirriam grabbed a discarded sword and held it up toward him. She prayed she’d stalled long enough to give Cullen time to get the townspeople to safety, but she knew her time was running out.

“So be it. I will begin again. Find another way to give this world the nation, and god, it requires. And you... I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die.” Corypheus walked toward Mirriam, hatred and rage rippling through the lifeless skin of his skeletal body. This was her last chance to hit before he killed her.

“Your arrogance blinds you. Good to know. You expect me to fight, but that's not why I kept you talking. Enjoy your victory. Here's your prize!” With that, Mirriam kicked the trebuchet into action, allowing it to release it’s mighty ammunition toward the snowy covered mountains for the last time.

Thundering avalanches poured down from the top of the peaks, a momentary distraction, giving Mirriam time to run. She had no idea where she was running, the Chantry, she supposed would be best. But her plans were thwarted as she was suddenly thrown from her feet, only to be hurled through a hole and into a wall. Her head cracked against the stone and the world went dark.

 

* * *

 

 

Cullen paced across the snow. No one believed him, but he was sure she’d make it, sure she’d survive. She had to, didn’t she? She was the Maker forsaken Herald of bloody Andraste for mercy’s sake! She couldn’t die yet! He watched as the snow piled higher and higher with no sign of life beyond their camp.

He’d nearly given up hope, his silent tears freezing on his cheek, when a shadowed figure slowly came into focus. Cullen jumped up, eyes sharp and staring, straining to see through the blizzard.

“It’s her! Maker! She’s alive!” He yelled, running toward her. He didn’t bother to see if anyone was listening or following, his heart leaping through his throat as he watched her fall in a heap, quickly covered in a dusting of snowflakes.

Cullen tore off his cloak, and dug his hands beneath Mirriam, lifting her from the frozen ground, holding her tight against his body. He wrapped her in his cloak as he carried her back to the camp.

“You’re alive… you’re alive. Thank the Maker, you’re alive,” he said, over and over. Mirriam mumbled something quietly, but he couldn’t hear what she’d said, and he looked down just in time to see her close her eyes and fall limp in his arms. Cullen raced to the camp, terrified she’d die from exposure, and laid her on an empty cot in a small tent.

“She’s passed out, I think. Please tell me she’s still with us!” He yelled at Mother Giselle, who took it all in stride. She knelt beside Mirriam and, after a moment, informed Cullen that she was still alive. Relief washed through his body and he let out a breath he’d been holding far too long.

“Thank you. What can I do to help?” He asked. Mother Giselle went to work removing Mirriam’s boots, which had frozen over, thick with ice.

“She needs warmth. Find as many blankets as you can, and maybe another body beside hers to help.” Cullen nodded. He gathered as many blankets as could be spared and handed them to Mother Giselle, who shooed him out while she removed Mirriam’s wet clothing. After a few minutes, the healer opened the tent flap, allowing him to return.

“Can… would you mind if I stay with her? I mean, I’ll be a perfect gentleman, I promise,” Cullen said, grinning, at Mother Giselle’s narrowed eyes.

“See that you are, Commander, or I’ll hang you from the tent poles by your smalls to freeze your nether regions off in the snow,” she said. Cullen blinked, taken aback by the healer’s uncharacteristically harsh response, but nodded and laid a hand over his heart.

“You have my word, my lady,” he said with an exaggerated bow. She nodded and left. Cullen took off his armor, but kept his soft, cotton clothing in place. This was going to be difficult enough without adding skin contact to the mix. But the thought of someone else guiding her back to him made his stomach churn.

He tugged his boots off and climbed into the cot next to Mirriam, sliding his arm around her, over one blanketed layer. Pressing his body as close to hers as possible, he snuggled in and pressed his face into her hair, which smelled faintly of charred wood.

After what felt like an eternity, Cullen was entirely too warm to continue, and slid deftly out from the blankets, replacing his boots and cloak, and opened the tent flap. He heard a quiet moan and turned to see Mirrriam, still very much asleep, rolling over.

“Cullen, mmm…,” she moaned in her sleep and the sound sent a thrill of heat through his limbs. She was dreaming about him. And from the sound of it, she was... _dreaming_... about him…. He smirked and walked back to her, placing a soft kiss on her forehead before leaving her to sleep in peace.

 

* * *

 

Mirriam woke on the cot, her head pounding, but grateful to be warm. Grateful to be alive. She felt a little extra warm at the memory of her vivid and rather detailed dream. Memories of Cullen’s chiseled, sweating body flowed into her mind as she blushed. She suddenly remembered the almost kiss in the Chantry and the promise of something in her, now, very near future. The thought made her body shudder with heat.

She sat up, letting the blankets fall, and shivered in the chill. She yelped and scrambled the pull the covers up as, of course in that moment, Cullen simply had to step into the tent. Her face flooded with a crimson blush as he entered.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, my lady Herald,” he said, turning quickly. Mirriam saw a pucker of a grin forming on his mouth before he turned and his stifled chuckle was proof enough. Mirriam sighed and felt her face turn beet red as she floundered around for something to wear. Cullen bent, picked something up and held it out behind him.

“Here, my lady, these are for you. Your others are still drying, though I daresay it will take several days in this dreadful storm.” Mirriam snatched the clothes from Cullen grasp and was rewarded with another chuckle. She dressed quickly and sat on the cot, awkwardly. She gripped the sides and rocked back and forth waiting for Cullen to say something.

“Can- can I turn around yet?” He asked, a mild amusement coloring his voice.

“Oh! Right, of course, yes. Yes, right, you can turn around,” Mirriam stumbled and was suddenly hit by the urge to crawl back under the blankets. Cullen turned around to face her and she wished she could hide even more.

He was out of his armor, just wearing his cotton pants and tunic, his hair damp from the snowfall. His eyes were bright with excitement and his stubble, just long enough to shadow his beautiful face. Cotton hung loosely against taut muscles and left little to the imagination. Sweet Maker, he looked like an angel.

Mirriam tilted her head to the side and blinked, but caught herself, clearing her throat and tucking her hair behind her ears, nervously. She could feel him grinning at her and it brought a rosey blossom to her cheeks. She tried to curl up, hiding her face as well as she could, but it was no use.

Tucking her feet under the cot, she interlaced her fingers and became very interested in her thumbnail. Her heart raced as two black boots came into view at her feet. Refusing to look up, she inhaled and exhaled with an involuntary shudder, making her blush even more.

Then he crouched and she his knees came into view which led her eyes toward other parts of his lower body. She blinked, shook her head and looked into his eyes. There was amusement there, she saw that, but there was also something else. Something soft and gentle, a side of him he rarely showed.

“Hello,” she said weakly, trying to keep her voice steady. He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, biting his lip as he studied her face.

“Hello, beautiful,” he responded with a soft grin. Mirriam smiled and blushed, turning away, but he would have none of that, placing his fingers on her jaw and turning her back to face him. Mirriam smiled nervously and closed her eyes.

“Mirriam, look at me,” he said, patiently, quietly, huskily. Heat pooled in her belly as she opened her eyes. His gorgeous hazel orbs stared back at her, dark and greedy. “You came back to me.”

Mirriam let out a breath and smiled. “Yes, I came back.”

“I believe I asked you to save something for me, yes?” He said, mischief dancing in his eyes. Mirriam bit her lip and saw his eyes linger on her mouth. Now that the danger was over, now that she was safe, the urgency was gone. She was nervous all over again. Her nerves melted away as he slid one hand around the back of her neck, the other on her cheek, and pulled her close to him.

“Mirriam….” he whispered against her lips, finally, _finally_ pressing his lips hard against hers. Mirriam wound her arms around his neck, her hands through his silky, damp hair. Cullen traced her bottom lip with his warm tongue, tempting and teasing, pleading for permission, and Mirriam parted her lips ever so slightly, allowing him entry. Tongues danced and tangled as fingers gripped tighter and passions flared hotter. Mirriam moaned as he tugged at her lip with his clever teeth, and she felt the warmth spread through her body.

Cullen broke off the kiss, grinning, and lay his forehead against Mirriam’s.

“Is that what you were looking for, Commander?” Mirriam asked, breathlessly. Cullen barked out a husky laugh and kissed her again, softer this time.

“It was perfect, my beautiful lady Herald.” Mirriam blushed at his admission of ownership and smiled. Cullen released her and sat on the cot next to her leaning forward on his knees. He cocked a brow at looked at her, humor and mischief obvious in his features.

“So… did you have good dreams?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, guys! I hope you enjoyed it! There's more where this came from. I've written a few standalone pieces with Cullen and Mirriam. I may add them to this series, or I may rewrite some of them. Mostly the proposal one. I think I'll write a new story for that, because this Cullen is different than that Cullen. Stay tuned!


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